


Holding Hands

by Theteapotqueen



Category: SCREW (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:15:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theteapotqueen/pseuds/Theteapotqueen
Summary: Some days are like today. He’s almost normal and thinks he’s finally working through it but then he ends up alone and drunk out of his mind in some shitty bar.Except today he isn’t alone in the shitty bar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me and a friend listened to a LOT of old VK-music a few days ago, so I got a bit nostalgic, and since I don't really have a fandom atm I kind of needed a pairing, so I guess here we are. 
> 
> There should probably be some warnings here, but I'm not really sure which and it's not actually that horrid, but consider yourselves warned.

The man now sitting in front of him is Asian, just like himself. But pretty, with long brown bangs, heavy eyeliner and several piercings. A small smile plays across cute lips and when he laughs there’s a hint of perfectly white teeth. 

Byou has no idea how he ended up sitting by a small table in a far corner of the room with a girly drink and a perfect stranger, and he doesn’t care.  
He doesn’t really care about anything these days. It’s as if the part of his brain that’s supposed to keep him from doing stupid things has shut down. It’s been like that since the accident. He doesn’t really live, just stays alive from day to day trying not to think of the three mangled bodies that used to be his best friends. 

Some days it’s unbearable and he just stays curled up in bed crying, without eating or drinking or even moving. Other days it’s almost as if he’s outside his body, indifferently watching himself do all sorts of stupid things, like you watch a not too interesting TV-show. And some days are like today. He’s almost normal and thinks he’s finally working through it but then he ends up alone and drunk out of his mind in some shitty bar. 

Except today he isn’t alone in the shitty bar. Somehow a cute angel with a name possibly beginning with K has his face only a few inches away and is asking him why he’s crying. 

He raises his left hand to his face and finds tears running down his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed he was crying. But crying is like breathing theses days; just something his body feels it needs, so it does it without asking. 

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was,’ he says, voice a bit shaky.

‘Well, you are,’ the angel says with a sad smile, waiting for him to either continue or tell him to mind his own business.

‘I…’ Byou starts, not sure if he wants the guy to piss of or to hug him, ‘I’m always crying these days.’ 

The angel just looks at him, waiting, giving him time to decide what to tell and what to keep secret.

‘I was in an accident a few weeks back. Car accident. One of those freak things you hear about but never expect to happen to yourself. We were four friends one moment and the next it was only me… I-,’ his voice cracks and instead of words there are more tears and a few sobs. 

Time passes. Byou is not sure how much, but probably quite a lot. He swallows hard.  
‘I just can’t get the pictures out of my head,’ he says finally, voice thick and broken. He has no idea why he shared this with the stranger. Or maybe he does. The loneliness is killing him and here's someone who apparently wants to keep him company for a couple of hours. 

The angel takes his hand in his. His skin is warm. And soft. It’s probably the first physical contact he has had since the E.R. doctor taped him up after the crash. He sighs softly, closing his eyes. They lace their fingers together and he feels the soft touch of the other mans thumb tracing slow patterns over his skin. 

For the first time since it happened he doesn’t see the crash playing on repeat on the inside of his eyelids. He almost smiles. The man whose name probably starts with K squeezes his hand a little tighter before letting it go. 

‘I am so terribly sorry,’ he says softly. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ 

‘No,’ Byou answers quickly then thinks for a moment. ‘Or yes, you could just… not go?’ he says finally, with a vulnerability to his voice that he doesn’t recognise. His whole façade has fallen to pieces and all that seems to be left are scattered pieces of who he used to be, like a glass dropped on a stone floor.

‘Then I won’t leave you until you ask me to,’ the stranger says, moving to sit next to him on the sofa and lacing their fingers together again. Byou let’s his head fall to the man’s shoulder, suddenly unable to hold the weight up any longer.

Through the soft fabric of his black shirt he can feel the warmth of the man’s skin.

‘You’ve probably told me already, but what’s your name?’ he asks, without looking up. 

‘Kazuki,’ the man answers, putting a hand around Byou’s shoulders, hugging him.

‘Right,’ Byou says, breathing in the scent of him. He’s wearing some odd, but quite pleasant, flowery aftershave and under that Byou can smell his warm skin and a hint of softener from his clothes. For the first time since the accident he’s actually feeling, if not happy so at least not sad or miserable.

He feels Kazuki absentmindedly playing with his hair and is suddenly very aware of the fact the he hasn’t showered in days. 

‘You shouldn’t really touch that, it’s gross,’ he says, sitting up again. 

‘No, not gross, just a little dirty,’ Kazuki smiles and reaches up to remove a stray blond strand from Byou’s forehead. Byou smiles. It feels strange, the muscles aren’t used to the movement. He realises he hasn’t smiled since the accident. 

‘That’s better,’ Kazuki says, tracing the curve of Byou’s lower lip with a soft finger, then cupping his cheek with his palm and wiping away the last of his tears with his thumb. Byou leans into the touch, closing his eyes again. 

‘Can I kiss you?’ he hears Kazuki ask. He nods. A puff of hot air is followed by soft lips meeting his. He leans into the kiss and doesn’t hesitate to part his lips. He slips his left hand into soft brown hair, lets the right explore the soft muscles of Kazuki’s lower back through the thin fabric and feels a warm hand move up his thigh and another sneak up under his shirt. Kazuki breaks the kiss.  


‘Do you think we should move this to somewhere… Less public?’ he whispers against Byou’s ear.  


‘Probably,’ Byou answers.  


They leave the shitty bar in favour of Kazuki’s apartment, a tiny place that happens to be only a few blocks away. Kazuki doesn't let go of Byou's hand even once during the ten minute walk, like he knows that the connection is somehow of great importance. And it is. To Byou the soft warm hand is like an anchor to reality, and to happiness. He knows he will never really forget that fateful Thursday afternoon, but now he is beginning to realise that maybe it doesn’t have to rule his whole life, maybe he can put it on a shelf somewhere along with the memories of his grandparent’s funerals and the day his father walked out on his family. And somehow Kazuki’s hand has become a symbol for that alternative future.  


When they reach the apartment, a grey door in a row of other grey doors in a 70’s apartment building, Kazuki unlocks the door and lets go of Byou’s hand to be able to untie his fancy shoes. Byou just kicks his well-worn boots of, apparently he hadn’t bothered tying them when he left for the bar, and hangs his thin jacket on a small silver peg.  


‘I would offer you a drink but I think you’ve had enough and I don’t think smalltalk is your thing,’ Kazuki says, taking his hand again and guides him to the bedroom, a small, light room with a king-size bed and no resemblance to the 70’s hallway whatsoever. Byou takes it in. It’s almost feminine, with light beige wallpaper, a white wrought iron headboard and a perfectly made bed.  


He let’s himself fall back onto soft silk sheets, hands above his head.  


When Kazuki follows it's all kisses and hot touches and it doesn't take them long to get rid of their clothes.  


Kazuki really looks amazing, the angelface from the bar keeping every promise. His muscles are slim but strong and his perfect, pale skin could come directly from the marble statue of a greek god. Byou can't really believe a creature like this could walk the earth. His world is too ugly and too grey for someone like Kazuki and it really seems like one of the lords' angels has fallen from heaven and straight into his path to save him from himself and his nightmares. At least he could have believed that if he'd been religious. Now he doesn't know what to think, except he knows he is grateful.  


*  


‘I should go,’ Byou says, ‘but first I need to borrow your bathroom to clean up a bit.'  


‘You could just stay you know… Otherwise the bathroom is the tiny door in the hallway.’ Kazuki’s rolled up in the covers and half asleep by the time he finishes the sentence. He doesn’t seem to notice Byou picking up his scattered clothes and he definitely doesn’t notice him leaving the apartment a few minutes later.  


When Byou exits the dirty 70’s building he’s not really sure what he feels, except that whatever it is it is much better than what he felt before he met the angel.  


‘Kazuki.’ He tastes the name before walking off into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I figured I should probably post something now I've got an account. It's not at all brilliant, and not really in my comfort zone and it took all my courage to post it, but here it is.


End file.
